They say she ferries no one in particular. And that her boat isn’t tied to either shore.
She doesn’t call out. She doesn’t ask where you want to go.
She simply waits.
Her boat is simple.
Wooden. Weathered. With no name on the side, and no lantern at the front.
But those who’ve stepped aboard say they felt it: A kind of softness.
Like the river shifted to match their breath.
She rows without sound. Not toward. Not away.
Just along.
And when the time comes,
she looks at you — not with urgency, but with a question you’ve already answered:
“Ready?”
If you nod, she docks. If you don’t, she keeps rowing. No judgment.
No cost.
Only motion.
They say she isn’t taking you anywhere new. She’s just helping you arrive — where you already were.